Different
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: (tall, looming, menacing); (warm, enveloping, familiar); (sneering?); (bridges burning). AU, Evil!Palamedes. Rated T for vivid description, violence in later chapters, and possible triggers. Friendship only; no slash. Please read/review! CONTAINS SLIGHT SPOILERS!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel**_**—it belongs, in its entirety, to Michael Scott. I also do not own _The Avengers _(which belongs to Marvel), or _The Revenge of the Sith _(which belongs to LucasFilms)-see the notes below. **

** Notes: I have always been intrigued by the idea of an evil Palamedes. What would his motivations be, what would he be like, etc. This is my attempt at such a scenario. **

**Several things gave me the inspiration for how this shapes itself: 1) _The Avengers' _Black Widow/Hawkeye showdown; 2) _The Revenge of the Sith_ Anakin/Padme dialogue. While neither of these is required watching, a quick look at these scenes on YouTube might be interesting. **

** Summary: (tall, looming, _menacing_); (warm, enveloping, _familiar_); (_sneering?_); (_bridges burning_); AU, Evil!Palamedes. Rated T for vivid description, violence in later chapters, and possible triggers. **

* * *

**Different**

—out of the fog (tall, looming, _menacing_) came a figure; a long claymore glinted through the dark smoke, slicing casually through the teeming anpu; a sharp, spicy smell (warm, enveloping, _familiar_) tainting the air, stinging Will's nostrils, making him choke, gag, and almost retch. He looked up through eyes watering with smoke, dust, and that oriental odor, and went felt his jaw drop.

"Palamedes!"

The dark knight advanced on him, face unreadable; Will tried to gain his feet, but was too weak, too unsteady; he fell.

The dark knight stood over him, glaring (_sneering?_) down at him with eyes that were, for the first time in two hundred years, unfeeling (_but not empty_).

The dark knight's hand clenched around his sword, hefting it as if in preparation, raising it high.

Will was almost too stunned to dodge the blow.

"Palamedes!" he shrieked in horror as he backpedaled, slipping down the stairs of the pyramid, barely missing the long, sharp blade that slammed into the gold-plated steps and sent flakes of gold spiraling into the air like ashes (_bridges burning_). "Palamedes, what are you doing?"

"What I was told to do." The answer was curt; it lacked every emotion that Will had ever learned to associate with Palamedes; it wasn't Palamedes' voice.

Staggering to his feet, ignoring the pain shooting up his legs, he stood to his full height and banished the tremor from his voice: "Which was what, exactly?"

Palamedes smirked at his attempts to be brave; the knight was a whole nine inches taller than Will, and it showed more than ever before. Suddenly Palamedes' height, his strength, his martial prowess…it was immediate, dangerous, and Will realized that, for the first time, _he was scared of Palamedes_.

"Make sure that what needs to happen happens."

"Which is?"

Palamedes smirked again, but shook his head.

"_Tell me_." (And he was standing on a different pair of stairs, in a different situation).

(_And it worked, just like last time, but it was different_). "The Elders have to have their way."

* * *

"No. No, no, no, no, no." (_Flamel, handing him a broom, "get to work;" Dee, cold, hard, cruel, "it had to be done"). _Will felt his world shatter again, and he was certain that this time it was going to break him with it. "That doesn't make any sense, Palamedes. You…you didn't come here to do that. You never wanted to do that. You…you came to…you…"

"Find your words," the knight snapped irately (_haughtily, as if he were better_).

"No." Once again Will sent his trembling voice into exile and summoned all his strength. He resisted the urge to put his hand to his eyes, to block out the tall, cruel figure before him, and he repeated himself. "No. You didn't come to this place to help the Elders. You came to help Abraham! Prometheus! All of us—Scatty, Francis, Joan, _me_! You didn't come here to hurt people."

"No, I didn't."

"Then why are you doing it now?"

"For noble reasons."

"That's a load of—"

The claymore sliced through the air in front of his nose, and he couldn't help but whimper.

"Don't." For a moment he was Palamedes again, letting Will know when he'd done or said something stupid. "Don't even bother."

"Bother with what? Telling you that you're deluding yourself into thinking you have some kind of noble reason when you're doing something that's going to kill millions of people, wipe out entire time strands, ruin _your future_?"

The claymore rushed by him once again; this time he had to step aside; this time it was meant to hurt.

Will looked at Palamedes in horror and shock. Then the anger set in.

"Fine."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel**_**—it belongs, in its entirety, to Michael Scott. _The Revenge of the Sith _(see note below) belongs to LucasFilms. **

** Another shout out to _The Revenge of the Sith_; such a great fight scene, has, of course, influenced my writing. **

* * *

He couldn't quash the terror that stirred in his gut when Palamedes assumed a fighting stance. This was _so wrong_, _so out of place_. Palamedes looked as concentrated as he had been when he had fought for the good. Except now he wasn't fighting for the good; he was fighting for the bad, and he was fighting _Will._

But Palamedes had made his choice, and Will had suffered too much at the hands of people like Dee, Tammuz, and the dark Elders—he had fought too hard to free himself from the grasp of people like them—to stand by and let Palamedes (_who had always stood on __his__ side, protective, good_) of all people bring it all back, take that freedom away. He'd been broken before, but he'd fixed himself; Palamedes wasn't going to be the person to break him again.

He readied himself, mimicking (_all he could do; he didn't actually know_) the stances that Palamedes had used so often, until he and Palamedes stood face to face, like a distorted image in a hall of mirrors.

"Are you ready?" Palamedes asked, and the question would have been just like him if it hadn't been for the glint in his eyes that made him look like a cat toying with a mouse.

Will paused, and thought about it for a second.

When he answered, it was without words. He sent a blast of lemon scented concentrate at the Saracen Knight.

Palamedes blocked it casually, and raised an eyebrow at Will.

"Are we going that route?" he asked, low and threatening.

"Do you want to give me a weapon?" Will spat at him.

Palamedes paused, and thought about it for a second.

And then he charged. The claymore screamed through the air, announcing itself boldy, confidently, just like Palamedes when he entered a room; Will stepped back—once, twice, three times—lost his footing on the stairs once again—fell back—the claymore sliced downward—

He sent another blast of power at the knight. It collided with the knight's shoulder, causing his strike to veer. Palamedes' heavy sword missed him by inches. _This wasn't going to work_.

Dodging yet another blow, Will felt behind him, praying that there was a dead anpu nearby; he was in luck. He felt the strange metal form of a tonbogiri against his trembling fingers, and he grabbed it. Just in time. He flung it up in front of his face, and Palamedes' claymore hit it with all the force of a killing blow—the blow that Will would have been unable to block if he hadn't found the weapon.

Palamedes laughed. "Now that's unfair."

"Hardly," Will gasped as he struggled to his feet, trying to evade the casual blows (_a cat pawing at a mouse_) that Palamedes aimed at him. "It was you armed against me unarmed. I would say that I've just leveled the playing field a little bit."

"And now it's me with a sword and you with the ancient prototype of a gun?"

"Yes." Will blocked another blow (_aching arms; aching legs; aching chest—not enough air; it can't be anything else_). "If you want to give me a proper weapon, I'll gladly drop this."

Palamedes shook his head in an amused manner. His next words were meant to hurt, because he knew that there was never a universe in which he could have uttered them without them hurting: "And why? You wouldn't be able to use it anyway. At least this way I know you actually know how to use the weapon you're handling."

"Does that matter at this point?" Will argued (_hoping that it did_).

"Not particularly."

"Then give me a weapon!"

"I might have. But you let me know you wanted one." Palamedes sent another blow crashing down onto the tonbogiri.

Will kicked, and thanked his short height of 5' 6"—it had him at the perfect level; Palamedes staggered back in shock. "Low blow, eh?" Will asked, raising his eyebrow and allowing himself a pleasurable taunt.

Palamedes shook his head in amusement again. "Take your chance while you have it. I'm about to stop playing around."

Will hefted the tonbogiri, aimed, and put his finger on the trigger.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N—I don't own **_**The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel**_**—it belongs, in its entirety, to Michael Scott. **

* * *

He never pulled it.

With a small, clove scented explosion, something in the tonbogiri stopped working. Sparks flew into the air, biting at Will's hands and his face, and he dropped the weapon with a gasp of surprise. Before he even had time to blink, Palamedes' boxer's fist slammed into his face.

His glasses snapped, as did about every bone in his nose. He went flying backward, slamming into the gold steps of the pyramid, and when he made contact he received a kick to his side before he even had time to register the pain in his chest, back, face, and nose.

Curling up on himself, he tried to find his aura, to harness it well enough to protect himself.

And then the assault stopped.

"You should have pulled the trigger," Palamedes taunted from above him, nudging Will with his foot.

Will pushed himself up, and fixed his watering eyes on Palamedes' face.

His next words were going to take everything their friendship had been for the past two hundred years—everything their friendship had become since they built the junkyard over thirty years ago—and it was going to break it into a million, irreplaceable pieces.

"I would have if you'd just given me about one more second."

Palamedes laughed, and it hurt to think that—perhaps—he had never heard Palamedes laugh so genuinely when they had been friends. "Would you like another chance?"

In the silence that followed, they simply stared at one another, and let everything that had happened sink in.

"What do you think they're going to do for this world?" Will asked weakly. "Do you really think they're going to do anything good? Cough up your 'noble reasons,' Palamedes."

"With pleasure." Palamedes placed his blade against the stairs and leaned against it. "This is the only stable time strand; it's the one we're experiencing; we know it's real."

"There are others! Marethyu—"

"_You're not stupid._" The words were ground out in a deep growl. "Those exist only in his words. Do you want to wager everything on a time strand we don't know exists?"

"Do you want to wager all your happiness on the idea that it doesn't?" Will retorted.

Palamedes shot a derisive glance at Will. "What makes you think I'd be less happy in the path I've chosen than what I might be leaving behind? Do you think that your presence might have anything to do with that happiness?"

Will paused.

Shaking his head brought tears to his eyes. "No; no, I don't. And that tells me how far gone you are, because not so long ago you were willing to drop to your death for me."

Palamedes' eyes widened, then narrowed; something like pain, then disgust, flitted across his face. "At least we've settled that. Makes my life easier."

"Really?" Will forced his voice to sound professional. "How so?"

"You'll be as clear-eyed as you can possibly be without your glasses when you die, whether or not I'm the one who deals the final blow."

Will shook his head a second time, and tried to break Palamedes' composure again. "And why should that matter?"

The effect was the same: the dark knight's eyes went wide, then narrow; his facial expression flitted from pain to disgust. The result was different.

The knight had no answer.

They stood, still in that face-off, that battle of words and ideas. Both of them were losing their composure: Palamedes stood defensively, on edge and disconcerted by Will's attacks; Will stood defeatedly, shaken by the slowly sinking in revelation that he was actually fighting his best friend.

It made him want to throw up.


End file.
